The Judge and the Gypsy by Sandra Chastain Read Free Book Online Page A

Flying Gypsies trapeze act, afraid of heights? Still, for now it was important that he not suspect who she was.
    “It isn’t that,” she said slowly. “For some reason I feel a bit light-headed. Just give me a moment to find my mountain-climbing legs, and I’ll be as ready as you.”
    Ready?
That was a phrase with which Rasch could identify. Right here, in the wilderness, with a woman he didn’t know, he was as ready as he’d ever been. But what he was ready for wasn’t climbing mountains, or trading heated touches, or fishing for information. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to release this highly desirable woman and step away from her.
    “Better put on those jeans and boots,” he said sharply. “Climbing a mountain barefoot in a skirt isn’t the best way to travel.”
    “I’ll be fine,” she said automatically. Removing her clothes now was an action she didn’t even want to consider.
    “Well, if you step on a snake, don’t say I didn’t warnyou.” Rasch picked up her knapsack and held it while she threaded her arms through the straps.
    “Snakes don’t scare me.”
    “What does scare you, Savannah?”
    “People,” she replied immediately. “People hurt more people than animals ever will.”
    Rasch frowned. Savannah could be so open, so forthright—he liked this aspect of her—and yet she hid so much of herself from his scrutiny. He wanted to know all of her, dammit … he wanted to know her in every sense of the word, in every fiber of her being.
    “Let’s go.” His voice was gruff, and he knew that he was being unreasonable by not giving her more time to get used to the altitude.
    Savannah forced herself to allow Rasch to adjust the placement of the straps on her backpack, his fingertips setting off pinwheels of sensation. Any more touching, and she wouldn’t have to do
any
climbing. She could attach herself to him magnetically and be carried along.
    “Do you know a lot about snakes?” she asked, as much to cover her confusion as to make conversation.
    “Enough, I suppose. Why, are you on speaking terms with them too?”
    Savannah shrugged her shoulders, trying to get the backpack arranged comfortably. “I really don’t talk to animals. At least not consciously. It’s a mental thing.”
    “Well, let’s hope that you speak mental bear, too, because we’re in bear country up here, and I didn’t bring my gun.” Rasch took a long look at Savannah, then shook his head before he turned and started offthrough the woods. He was satisfied with her knapsack, but her dress still bothered him. It wasn’t so much that her attire was inappropriate as that it was distracting to him. Or perhaps it was the graceful curves of her femininity that were so disconcerting.
    “Bears? Do you think we’ll meet any?”
    “After what’s happened to me in the last twenty-four hours, nothing would surprise me, Savannah.”
    Rasch pushed a limb away and held it back for Savannah to precede him. She drew even, stopped, and looked at him for a long moment, then passed by, her skirt swishing against his legs like feathers. He fell in behind her, allowing her to lead the way. The occasional trill of her ankle bracelet echoed through the trees as if it were speaking a language of its own.
    They climbed steadily for a time, listening to the lyrical sound of the mountain stream in the distance. The late afternoon heat enveloped them, and perspiration dripped down Rasch’s forehead. It was October, for God’s sake, not the middle of June, but the damp, humid air created steam.
    Ahead, Savannah seemed little touched by the climate. There were leaves and puff-ball seeds caught in her dark hair. Her feet, sure and certain, moved lightly along the trail. She appeared to have gotten her second wind as she stepped over logs and debris, as if she knew where they were going and was eager to arrive.
    Then suddenly she stopped.
    Rasch stumbled, barely halting before he plowed into her. “What’s